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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 120/241
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A
field
of
stiff
weeds
and
thistles
and
tufted
nettle-bunches
.
Thick
among
the
tufts
of
rank
stiff
growth
lay
battered
canisters
and
clots
and
coils
of
solid
excrement
.
A
faint
marshlight
struggling
upwards
from
all
the
ordure
through
the
bristling
grey-green
weeds
.
An
evil
smell
,
faint
and
foul
as
the
light
,
curled
upwards
sluggishly
out
of
the
canisters
and
from
the
stale
crusted
dung
.
Creatures
were
in
the
field
:
one
,
three
,
six
:
creatures
were
moving
in
the
field
,
hither
and
thither
.
Goatish
creatures
with
human
faces
,
hornybrowed
,
lightly
bearded
and
grey
as
india-rubber
.
The
malice
of
evil
glittered
in
their
hard
eyes
,
as
they
moved
hither
and
thither
,
trailing
their
long
tails
behind
them
.
A
rictus
of
cruel
malignity
lit
up
greyly
their
old
bony
faces
.
One
was
clasping
about
his
ribs
a
torn
flannel
waistcoat
,
another
complained
monotonously
as
his
beard
stuck
in
the
tufted
weeds
.
Soft
language
issued
from
their
spittleless
lips
as
they
swished
in
slow
circles
round
and
round
the
field
,
winding
hither
and
thither
through
the
weeds
,
dragging
their
long
tails
amid
the
rattling
canisters
.
They
moved
in
slow
circles
,
circling
closer
and
closer
to
enclose
,
to
enclose
,
soft
language
issuing
from
their
lips
,
their
long
swishing
tails
besmeared
with
stale
shite
,
thrusting
upwards
their
terrific
faces
Help
!
He
flung
the
blankets
from
him
madly
to
free
his
face
and
neck
.
That
was
his
hell
.
God
had
allowed
him
to
see
the
hell
reserved
for
his
sins
:
stinking
,
bestial
,
malignant
,
a
hell
of
lecherous
goatish
fiends
.
For
him
!
For
him
!
He
sprang
from
the
bed
,
the
reeking
odour
pouring
down
his
throat
,
clogging
and
revolting
his
entrails
.
Air
!
The
air
of
heaven
!
He
stumbled
towards
the
window
,
groaning
and
almost
fainting
with
sickness
.
At
the
washstand
a
convulsion
seized
him
within
;
and
,
clasping
his
cold
forehead
wildly
,
he
vomited
profusely
in
agony
.
When
the
fit
had
spent
itself
he
walked
weakly
to
the
window
and
,
lifting
the
sash
,
sat
in
a
corner
of
the
embrasure
and
leaned
his
elbow
upon
the
sill
.
The
rain
had
drawn
off
;
and
amid
the
moving
vapours
from
point
to
point
of
light
the
city
was
spinning
about
herself
a
soft
cocoon
of
yellowish
haze
.
Heaven
was
still
and
faintly
luminous
and
the
air
sweet
to
breathe
,
as
in
a
thicket
drenched
with
showers
;
and
amid
peace
and
shimmering
lights
and
quiet
fragrance
he
made
a
covenant
with
his
heart
.
He
prayed
:
--
HE
ONCE
HAD
MEANT
TO
COME
ON
EARTH
IN
HEAVENLY
GLORY
BUT
WE
SINNED
;
AND
THEN
HE
COULD
NOT
SAFELY
VISIT
US
BUT
WITH
A
SHROUDED
MAJESTY
AND
A
BEDIMMED
RADIANCE
FOR
HE
WAS
GOD
.
SO
HE
CAME
HIMSELF
IN
WEAKNESS
NOT
IN
POWER
AND
HE
SENT
THEE
,
A
CREATURE
IN
HIS
STEAD
,
WITH
A
CREATURES
COMELINESS
AND
LUSTRE
SUITED
TO
OUR
STATE
.
AND
NOW
THY
VERY
FACE
AND
FORM
,
DEAR
MOTHER
SOAK
TO
US
OF
THE
ETERNAL
NOT
LIKE
EARTHLY
BEAUTY
,
DANGEROUS
TO
LOOK
UPON
,
BUT
LIKE
THE
MORNING
STAR
WHICH
IS
THY
EMBLEM
,
BRIGHT
AND
MUSICAL
,
BREATHING
PURITY
,
TELLING
OF
HEAVEN
AND
INFUSING
PEACE
.
O
HARBINGER
OF
DAY
!
O
LIGHT
OF
THE
PILGRIM
!
LEAD
US
STILL
AS
THOU
HAST
LED
.
